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reasons why we should be in loveif I could
I’d love you like
those couples who grow
into each other and make
poetry out of body language
and wear one another’s
weaknesses when they get
too heavy and talk about
the weather without ever really
meaning the weather at all;
and you’d keep me from
falling asleep in the ocean
and I’d lie about little
things, always confusing
Sunday for Tuesday and
you for somebody with
the same face who
was always afraid of
me. you’d chuckle and
hold me and I’d cave in to
you like the hungry tide
and you’d say I looked
beautiful when I cried
and I wouldn’t believe you
but I’d cry more anyways.
if people were alive,
you’d be the brightest
one. I don’t have much
to offer but I could write you
a million dedications
in the sand, and give you
pocket change when you
needed a wish; I could
take you to New Zealand
to paint water lilies or England
to go skydiving or Italy
to fall in love and mean it
and I would promise you
the moon an
honesty isn't a weaknessI have a headache and not enough time
to explain the irony of how I want to be
every pretentious poet making art out of
themselves, cutting open their side and writing
in blood and pixie dust; or how difficult
it is to make a good allegory out of carsickness
and household complacency. this
is every secret I ever hid. when I was 9
someone dissected the world in front of me,
showed me it was a living, wanting thing
and that I was just a lonely cell, functioning
through my dysfunction; when I was 11
the boy I liked told me he’d be interested
if I were prettier and I learned starvation
was more a state of mind than a presence
of being. when I was 13 I researched the lethality
of cleaning products, because god, I felt so dirty,
and nothing can clean you more than a couple cupfuls
of bleach. when I was 15 I was old and decrepit
and mostly dead, returning from war with flowers
for graves that weren’t filled and a heart of
tragedy, vulnerable and draped in every shade
of mourning f
does she know the astrological significance
of the bruises starring along
your wrists? if I could, I’d
run away somewhere where
the sky is silent and the people
hate honest eyes. here’s my problem,
I’ve wasted all my time daydreaming
in the universe of your scars. I wonder
if substantiality is lethal.
[when will you move on
like you know what
you’re doing with your life,
like this tiny existential
failure is only a hazard sign
on the roadmap of your journey,
like the world weighing down
upon your shoulders is an
exercise in vanity and quietude
instead of someone
lists of necessities: methods of
starvation, hours to fall asleep by, sharp
objects, words that mean nothing.
I’m sorry this isn’t better. I’m sorry
I’m not better and I’m sorry
nothing is bright anymore.
things you remind me of:
the november sky
right before it rains.
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience in
the holy water of my wrists,
I carve hearts from empty
paper for my galaxyboy
with stars written in his skin,
and I swallow moths to
muffle the emptiness and
help me fly away.
what we're not supposed to talk aboutI could make a story out of
this. The blackout epiphanies
blinding me like a total eclipse
of any sense of rationality I ever
stole out from my parents' blind spots
when they turned the other way. The
boy I fell half in love with and
my therapist's unassuming questions
about why he was different, the way I
was never beautiful to him but he
still looked me in my bokeh eyes,
betraying and quiet, so that was enough.
My vain addiction to anything
permanently damaging and
more or less glamorous. The dreams
I can’t swallow no matter what shade
of delusion they come in, about
the imminent death of stars named
after deader lovers, and places
where the air is intoxicated with
the promise of Ecstasy, or whatever
name heaven goes by after you begin to doubt
the reality of putting one foot in front
of the other will get you anywhere at all.
I could write novels about my path
to self-martyrification and the moments
I cried for no reason except that
I had no reason tor cry. I could write
excuses for why I'm shakingwe live in a world of apologies.
I made a mistake a year back,
choosing my addiction to oxygen
over less demanding things.
I’m sick of trembling for problems
that aren’t mine and I’m sick of trying
to romanticize black holes and
the indiscriminate nature of lithium and
I’m sick of waking up every morning
feeling sick. and truly, I’m sorry
but I’m not ready to accept my role
in the making of myself. I’m not ready
to lament for those with a smaller
pain tolerance, and for my dislike
of anything that requires commitment.
I’m sorry I miss you and I’m sorry
I won’t admit that out loud.
how scary is it to be something
so unalterably heavy, to be diagnosed
as your own worst enemy, but god,
you’re so fucking beautiful,
and not in the stereotypical boy
meets girl meets fairytale way, but
the kind that makes my heart
bleed a million miles quicker.
I just wanted to cry on all
your scars and wash them clean.
when things are bad for
Curing Depression in Seven Easy Steps1. apologize profusely to
the ones you were honest with,
the ones who believe in you,
the ones who never cared,
the boy who thought you were
worth it, the girl who stayed up
all night to hear you breakdown,
the doctors, the nurses, the stars,
your scars, your little brother
who told you he hoped your sad
would go away, yourself
2. fall in love with someone
who doesn’t understand you.
write poems about his eyes being
a lighthouse, and his hands
being sirens. tell him he is
your happiness, he makes you
better. tell him his scars are
beautiful, he is so breathtakingly
beautiful that it’s reasonable
you should cry; love him
infinitely, love him like they say
you need to love yourself
3. eat away emotions
you didn’t realize you had. eat
when you’re sad, eat when
you’re bored, eat when he forgets
to call. eat when you think
you’re the only person alive
in a dead universe, eat when
you don’t remember when you
were last happy; pretend
the emptiness is
forgetting how to sleeptake two.
a week past the end of the world,
and there’s something therapeutic
about not caring. I must’ve
really messed up in another life. I
wake up shaking and forget to sleep
shaking and hold your hand, shaking,
remembering the moment I became
poison. I feel crazier than ever; cementhead’s
good and gone with his plastic wrists
and missing soul. the boy who entertains
his unfriendliest nightmares couldn’t
muster up enough innocence
to make it right. (today, he writes
a letter; dear Sophia, he tells me
it doesn’t get better. I’m
locked up for a crime I
didn’t commit. you did it,
Sophia. you built me
wrong.) but you know me,
I fell in love with a problem I
couldn’t fix, a boy blinded
who’s never seen the light.
He was a stormy violet but I
am cyan graying with age--
I spent most of my life dying,
and the rest of it wishing I
was someone else. they tell us
only god will see your ugly;
and the girl who swallowed
why we pity angelsto him;
you are afraid of phonecalls. you
are afraid of your own voice, and
opening your ribcage to let
your heart come live on your sleeve.
you are afraid of living without caffeine
or alcohol, whatever the day calls for;
you are afraid of being real
without laughing afterwards, becoming
everything you worked so hard to get
away from, acknowledging all
that you still are. know this:
I am afraid of loud noises.
I am afraid of honesty and drowning,
people I don’t know and words
I won’t say. I am afraid
of growing old and living alone and
you not accepting me. I am afraid
of myself. In that, we are the same.
I have the compulsion to grab you
and cup you to me like you are some
half-alive bird, like that sound
as the lazy sun paints you a portrait is
your hummingbird heart and not my own
shallow breaths. in the beginning,
you were my peace of mind. you traced
the contours of my being with a scalpel
and held me up, a shadow puppet,
as the darkest, blackest figures I gav
*Sunrise Sunset*Vermillion sunset brazen delight
Lover's hold hands watching sight
Darkness descends night grows cold
So what, these hours are pure gold.
Vermillion sunrise streaks sky
Two lovers kiss farewell and sigh
Man holds woman close to heart
Dawn and life in earnest starts.
Cracking.Entranced and encumbered, we waltz;
locked in a lucid dream, daring to fly.
A lone, pale pearl floats, frigid,
soaking up the stars. The misplaced moon
begs to be returned -- raw,
impassive. I whisper whimsy,
treading thoughts, cracked glass, carefully.
Pleaseit is the first word I think of...
it is the one that I whisper
when the world's become frozen,
Like a slow motion twister.
I'm just watching the people,
Moving on, moving up...
But I am just watching,
With this half empty cup,
of coffee that is yet to kick in...
ApartYou push and push and soon enough
I'm far beyond your reach
I used to live to feel your touch
But now I live for me
You said you lacked the space for me
Inside your broken life
And now I know we´ll never be
And I will be alright
I gave you what I thought you'd need
A hand to grab and hold
But there was never room for me
Inside your heart of stone
I do not feel I've wasted time
Or wasted any breath
I took a shot, you drew a line
And now we've reached the end
I feel the need to write it down
And know you'll never see
But I am moving past it now
I'll pass this hill with ease
You missed a chance of something great
You pushed too far and fast
And when you're all alone someday
You'll miss the chance we had
So move along, and move alone
I've put you out of mind
I hope you find a happy home
I won't be there this time
This isn't meant to crush your heart
That deed was done to me
Just know while we are worlds apart
Between they'll never meet
© Jarrett Douglass DeLude
A Lost Love PoemI wrote your name in the sky,
But the wind blew it away.
I wrote your name in the sand,
But the waves washed it away.
I wrote your name in my heart,
And forever it will stay.
BeginningsProve me wrong.
Give me your time,
Walk alongside me,
Earn my trust,
Though you already have it,
Deserve my adoration,
Though my heart says you do.
Prove to my mind,
that my heart can be right.
Prove to my cynicism,
That faith wins all fights.
Do not kiss me yet...
Let the trust settle in first,
Or Anxiety will take flight,
And the best will become it's worst...
Hold me while I am restless.
But do not hold me still.
Allow me to stay,
Without bending my will.
Prove to my soul,
That another exists,
that won't damage my heart,
Or Gnash at my wrists.
The Warmth WithinTouch me with your hand, my dear,
Pull me close to your chest,
Hold me in your arms, my dear,
Your heartbeat gives me rest.
Let my hands,
Caress your skin,
So I can feel,
The warmth within.
Let me sleep in your presence, my dear,
The warmth of your heat divine,
Let me lie curled, my dear,
Your back touching mine.
Unseen, but not UnknownO, you whose arms I have not yet embraced
But long for in my dreams both day and night,
I will not let your bated breath go waste
Nor keep the blinding lamp trained your sight.
I will not let confusion guide your steps
And shifting sands give way beneath your heels.
Though all the paths may lead into the depths,
All possibilities to long ordeals,
The darkest shadows by the light were born,
The lowest dips must peak along the way.
Let not your face be anymore forlorn,
But smile, O you daughter of the day,
And place your hope in him whose outstretched hand
Will make us stand in all that he has planned.
Speaking TermsI've heard they're not on speaking terms
This explains a lot..
The quiet days, the difficult ways
The things that you *forgot*
I had suspected who was to blame
But I won't point the finger
It's not my place and doesn't help
To let this stuff just linger.
Instead of listening one ignored
All the gentle prods
And carried on in ignorance
Not even giving nods.
Never to communicate
A dire thing indeed
So much time you both have lost
When both have been in need.
Everyone else, they saw it too
It wasn't only me
They even tried to get through to you
But neither of you would see
How very frequent we screwed our face
In anger and in frustration
At all the times you both turned your back
And there died our anticipation.
Well, here we are, still watching on
Waiting on you two
Hoping that you open the line
And ONE of you gets through.
I hear you're not on speaking terms
Your heart and brain my dear
No pointing at the brain
Or the heart that lives in fear.
So come my love, I cherish you
A Silent SonnetHearts fill with longing for what is not theirs-
tempting, enticing like only addicts know.
Desperately pushed to the point of despair,
this fluttery stomach is now their worst foe!
Secrets left screaming upon airtight lips,
they refuse to slip, mustn't endanger
true meaning in those very "subtle" quips
which, try as they might- refuse to waver.
So giving up may seem the only choice
in this defeat. But that would mean to lose
the most precious treasure. They hold their voice
and silence their souls, becoming subdued.
There's pain in each agonizing moment,
but worth it for every shared instant spent.
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
Twenty-three years before the crippling of Crown Prince James III
He was fourteen and she was probably aged about the same, give or take a few years. It had been an hour since he'd met her.
He hated her already.
She scowled behind him and likely shared the sentiment as they scampered up the hillside in a desperate attempt to escape the roaring mob that seemed to be growing perpetually larger and coming ever-closer. Gabriel would have liked to say that it was all her fault he was in this situation, though it was his careless nicking ofwhat was it? A chicken that started the first old woman running, but how was he supposed to know that she'd stumble and fall and everyone else would think he'd assaulted her?
He hadn't. He'd taken the chicken, snapped its neck and run, because he hadn't eaten meat in weeks and he was starting to feel the affects on his already weak limbs.
This is what happens, he thought. This is what happens when you live like th
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